


And Thus It Willl Go On

by Dori



Category: Beauty and the Beast (TV), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-31
Updated: 2006-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:39:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dori/pseuds/Dori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mouse is not happy; those actors, they got it all wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Thus It Willl Go On

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published in Linda Mooney and Lucy Greene's _Tim'rous Beastie_. Waaaaaay back in the dark ages, yo, around '91. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _This is for everyone who still claps._

"Catherine?"

She turned at the tentative sound of her name. Mouse stood before her, his arms wrapped around a large, worn book. He looked worried about something. "What is it, Mouse?" she asked gently.

Mouse fingered the book's cover and glanced down. "Kipper says, Catherine's taking little kids to see a play. Right?"

Catherine smiled. Kipper must have run into Mouse on his way to Fathers chamber; the children had left her a short while ago, all of them at a dead run, to ask Father about the trip she had proposed.

"Yes," she said, "we're going to see _Peter Pan_. Why?"

Mouse shuffled his feet and clutched the book tighter. He looked at Catherine, obviously gathering his courage to speak, and finally blurted, "Can Mouse come too? Please?" Taking her surprised hesitation as reluctance, he continued in a rush of words. "Please, Catherine, Mouse will be good! No talking, no taking; won't even take Arthur!"

Catherine laughed out loud at the picture of Mouse's pet raccoon climbing across the members of the audience in a darkened theatre. At the sound, Mouse's face fell, and she reached out to reassure him. "Of course you may come, Mouse!"

His answering smile made the ever-present candles unnecessary. "Thank you!"

He started to dash away, and Catherine caught the hem of his sleeve, swinging him around. "Wait, Mouse. Why did you think I'd say you couldn't go?"

His shoulders rose eloquently, but he never lifted a hand from the book. "Father says, 'Mouse can't go Above.' Catherine says, 'Take children to see Peter Pan.' Kids say, 'Mouse is grown-up.' "

Catherine smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Nobody's too old for Peter Pan. And you know how Father worries."

Mouse rolled his eyes heavenward and nodded. Catherine laughed at his expression; she had felt the same way more times than she could count. Her arm slid around his shoulder for a quick hug. "Don't worry. Father's already agreed that the children can go with me. And I'm inviting you, too. Besides, I'll need someone there who'll be able to tell Vincent about all the neat stuff!" Her eyes sparkled merrily as she grinned at Mouse.

For a moment he smiled back at her; then his expression grew somber. "Thanks, Catherine," he said. "Mouse is glad. Watch close, tell Vincent real good." As though it didn't sit well on his face, the serious frown fled, replaced by a grin. "Can't wait to see the Lost Boys! Heard lots of stories!" Again he had almost darted off before Catherine caught his arm.

"Wait! Walk with me, Mouse."

He seemed to agree reluctantly, and bounced along as though his feet kept wanting to leave the floor.

"So," Catherine said, after they had walked several yards in silence, "You like the story of Peter Pan?"

Mouse nodded vigorously and stopped, holding out the worn book so that she could see the title. Most of the gold leaf had flaked away, but the depression where it had been laid down was very clear--it read _Peter Pan_. When he saw that she had read the title, he clutched the book to his chest again. "Mouse's favorite story in the whole wide world forever and ever!"

There was such a wistful note in his voice that Catherine looked sharply at him, and was surprised to see a tear slide silently down his cheek. She put her arm about his shoulder again. "Mine too, Mouse," she said softly, "mine too."

* * *

Vincent heard the children long before they got to his chamber. Their excited voices reached his ears while they were still far away from the Hub, and presently they all burst into his chamber, breathless from having run the last bit. Catherine followed them, laughing as Timothy and Marie, the two smallest ones, pulled at her hands, trying to make her hurry.

"Vincent! Vincent!" they cried as soon as they were through the door. They let go of Catherine's hands and rushed to Vincent's chair, pushing their way to the front of the crowd that swirled around it. All the children were talking at once, vying for Vincent's attention; he struggled to keep a straight face as the children's voices grew louder and more excited.

"Vincent, you shoulda seen..."

"They flewed, Vincent!"

"...and he had a hook 'stead of a hand..."

"There was fairies, too!"

"An' the alligatordile kept tock-ticking..."

"...the Indians..."

"...the Pirate ship..."

"...and then he rescued Wendy..."

"And it was just so..."

"Wrong!"

The children's babble stopped abruptly, and every head turned toward Vincent's doorway.

Mouse stood there, his face drawn into a fierce scowl, his arms crossed on his chest, his feet planted far apart.

"Mouse..." Vincent rose from his chair, lifting Marie from his lap almost unconsciously. "What's wrong?"

"That play!" Mouse's bottom lip pushed out and he glared at Catherine accusingly. "All wrong," he said again, "everything, wrong."

Catherine had never seen Mouse so agitated. He strode into the room and stalked straight to Vincent. The children stepped aside for him, but he didn't notice.

"Vincent,," he began, as though he were speaking to the final court of appeal, "that play--wasn't right! Peter was a...a..." He could not continue, and stood looking up at Vincent, chin quivering in outrage.

"What, Mouse?" Vincent inquired gently.

"A girl!"

Catherine couldn't help herself; she laughed out loud. Mouse turned on her with a fierce look, and she tried valiantly to swallow the laughter.

"Mouse," she said, the mirth bubbling just beneath her words, "the role of Peter is traditionally played by a girl."

"Don't care." Mouse's jaw took on a stubborn set. "Peter's not a girl!"

"It was just a play, Mouse," Eric put in impatiently, only to have Mouse round on him in turn.

"Just a play! Hah! Still have to tell it right!" His derision was plain.

Catherine approached him. "Mouse," she said in a soothing voice, "what didn't they tell right?"

Mouse's shoulders lifted almost to his ears and he raised his hands helplessly. "Wendy--too old. A girl instead of Peter. And...didn't tell some of the best parts!"

"Which were they?"

"Well--about the crocodile. Almost ate Michael!"

Catherine's forehead creased in a puzzled frown. She looked over at Vincent, but he only shook his head at her, apparently as confused as she. "Mouse, she said, "which part was that? I don't remember..."

"Yeah!" Billy spoke up, peering under Vincent's left arm. "I don't remember that part neither."

"I do," Marie asserted, giving Mouse a brilliant smile which faded in an instant. "Least, I think I do..."

Mouse shifted his weight, impatient. "Come on. Peter, John, the Lost Boys--all left. 'Have adventures,' they said. Wendy said, 'Michael's too little. Has to stay here.' Michael's angry--snuck out. Found the crocodile, tried to scare it, got stuck under a tree root. Crocodile getting closer, closer; foot won't come out..."

He stopped to breathe, as well as to look at the wide-eyed children. They all seemed to be holding one breath. He crouched down so that his eyes were on a level with Marie's. "And then," he went on, his voice hushed, his own eyes widening, "and then--crocodile opens its mouth! Michael sees big teeth. Lots of big teeth!"

Marie whimpered and clutched the hem of Vincent's shirt, pulling the fabric around to hide all of her face except for one eye, with which she peeked out at Mouse.

"And then..." Mouse straightened. "Peter flew down! Pulled Michael loose. And they flew away." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked vastly pleased with himself when all the children, as well as Catherine, let out their breaths with a single whoosh.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Billy pushed his way through the other children to stand in front of Mouse. "That part ain't in the book!"

"Mouse knows that. So?" Mouse only realized his mistake when Billy's chin jutted outward and his fists clenched. Even the implication that he was incorrect or that his statements were of no consequence produced an immediate reaction in the child; it was like telling an Irishman, "No, you can't"; he set out at once to prove you wrong.

"Well, that stuff ain't in the book, so it ain't right!"

"Is so!"

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?" By now, Billy was standing almost on Mouse's toes, and looking up at him with all the belligerence of in infuriated nine-year-old.

"Because!" Mouse shouted back at the younger boy. And then, for the first time in Catherine's memory, he thought better of what he was about to say next. Several long seconds ticked by before he finally went on. "Mouse just knows." He folded his arms nonchalantly and looked away from Billy.

The other boy gave a braying guffaw and turned to the other children. "Aw, he don't know anything!" he exclaimed disdainfully.

"Billy!" Vincent's voice cut sharply through the other children's giggles. "That is quite enough." He gave Billy a stern look, and the boy stared down at the toes of his grubby boots and mumbled something that was apparently an apology, for Vincent's expression softened and he nodded as he said, "I'm glad to hear that." He looked around at the rest of the children. "Perhaps you should all be getting to your chores now, hmmm?"

There was a ragged chorus of, "Yes, Vincent," and they all scampered from the chamber.

Only Mouse remained behind. His mouth was set in the stubborn line which meant that, no matter how carefully you explained your reasoning to him, he would dismiss it in favor of his own odd brand of logic. He glared at Vincent and Catherine, daring them to say anything.

"Did happen," he said, but now he seemed a trifle unsure. He looked at Vincent, then at Catherine. "Didn't it?" he asked mournfully, as though he feared there could only be one answer, no matter how much he might wish otherwise.

"Mouse..." Catherine went to him and pulled him into a hug. "Don't worry about it. Sometimes when we've heard lots of stories, they get jumbled together, and..."

"No!" Mouse stiffened and jerked away from her. "No!" he said again, "Didn't get stories jumbled; Mouse remembers. Mouse remembers!" He backed away a step, his face twisted in confusion, and rubbed at his left temple. For several seconds he seemed on the verge of speaking; Catherine could see the struggle he was making to get the words out, but in the end, nothing came, and with a frustrated grunt, he turned and stalked away.

Concern creased Catherine's face as she turned to Vincent. "Do you think we ought to go after him?"

Vincent shook his head. "No. He needs time to think. Perhaps it would be best if we didn't disturb him." Catherine sighed and looked toward the chamber entrance.

"I hope he'll be all right."

* * *

Mouse strode down the corridor, almost running, not paying attention to where his feet were taking him, trusting in that other sense which so often allowed him to "find" things to send him in the right direction when he needed it. His thoughts spun as he tried to sort out what had happened in Vincent's chamber.

For a few moments, when he had been telling the children about Michael and the crocodile, the memories had been so clear of the first time he'd heard the story, clearer than they had been since he was about eight and discovered that gadgets and gizmos were often more fun than stories. He had not realized how the memories of that early time in his life had faded or how little importance he had attached to their going.

And now they were fading again. A thick lump rose in Mouse's throat when he realized it, and he stopped where he was.

"No!" he cried, and the anguished sound echoed back at him from the tunnel walls. "Musn't forget!" These words too echoed, but underneath them, Mouse heard another sound, long ago familiar, which he sometimes still thought he heard in his dreams.

Then something caught at his hair, snatching it in a hard tug. He turned, and something very bright flashed past his face, tweaking his nose on the way. The sound came again, a high tinkling note which sounded very impudent. Mouse gave a delighted whoop of recognition and put out his hand. The bright light flashed to it and settled on his palm.

"Tink!"

Immediately the sound of tiny bells filled the air again. When at last it stopped, Mouse laughed. "Same Tink," he said.

The creature in his hand tinkled at him again and shot away, pausing a little distance away. When Mouse did not follow, it flashed back and hovered before him, and this time the bell-like chime held a distinctly scolding note. When Mouse still did not move, she tinkled furiously and darted to his ear. Mouse yelped when she pinched it.

"Ow! Quit it!" He rubbed his ear and looked at her sadly. "Tink, Mouse can't go."

She gave one short, questioning chime.

Mouse shrugged. "Look at Mouse. Mouse is grown up. Can't fly anymore."

Another short note, this one plainly meaning, "So?"

"You know," he said through the growing lump in his throat. " 'When you grow up, you forget the way.' "

This time the tinkle was sad.

"Mouse knows. Miss you too." He swallowed, hard. "Goodbye."

She gave one last forlorn jingle and started to leave, her light very dim because she was going slowly. She had only gone a few yards when Mouse called after her.

"Tell Peter, Mouse still remembers..."

She flashed back, so quickly that Mouse saw only a streak of light, and kissed him on the cheek, then darted off down the tunnel.

Mouse stood staring after her for a long time. Presently, without realizing that he did it, he brushed a fine, glittery dust from his hand and went on his way. He never noticed that his feet, when he thought of something especially pleasant, would momentarily leave the ground.

  
_...and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay, and innocent, and heartless...  
James M. Barrie_   



End file.
